


Once again

by Get_below_my_line_of_vision



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 05:59:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17177222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Get_below_my_line_of_vision/pseuds/Get_below_my_line_of_vision
Summary: It was years after the June Rebellion. Enjolras believed he was a lone survivor, and took time trying to live his life to the fullest.However, one day he meets Grantaire; the man he believed to have died at the bloody battle of 1832.





	1. Enjolras leaves

Outside of a cottage nearing to the woods, stood Enjolras, staring at the clear night sky. He had moved away from Paris after the trauma he experienced of his friends... in the ground... dead, after following his orders. They all believed him, yet he delivered no sanctuary. Out of guilt and his fright of facing his demons, he travelled far from Paris to live a normal, rural life. However he still could feel some presence of his friends beside him, laughing and drinking. Whenever he did turn around, none of them were there. Only their phantom voices lingered in emptiness.  
Enjolras spotted a wishing star, though he no longer had dreams. Instead, he watched the star pass by in lightning speed as it descended. In fact, he saw the ball of fire as himself. He was full of potential, dare say to-headed. With the overwhelming passion he had, no body was able to resist him; he was a star with potential. However, with this increasing energy, more people around him realised he was soaring, but down to Earth, as an angel does when being condemned to be human. In the end, Enjolras was not ever meant to be a saviour, but a damned one.

He felt the stillness of the air, an absence of a wind, thus a vacuum of any sound. The world around was mute at that very moment. He concentrated on his breathing. The stillness of his breath was so satisfactory to him.  
Then something happened. Flashes of his friends appeared in his head like a thunderstorm. His breathing slowly increased at first. He saw Combeferre, Joly, Bossuet Courfeyrac, Jehan, Bahorel, and Feuilly. He had failed them all. They all looked at him with hope in their eyes, only returned back with gloom in Enjolras'. He knew they would fail- but he was scared-- his breathing hastened-- he was so scared his friends would abandon him. He did not tell a soul about the predicted deaths. June Rebellion would fail-- he failed to breathe consistently, and perhaps at all-- he knew June Rebellion would fail... Yet he kept it to himself. He didn't tell anyone. No one knew... No one...  
Enjolras took shelter back at his home- the cottage.  
He rested on a chair by a wooden table with a candle light. He covered his mouth with his hand out of guilt and shock. At that moment he viewed himself as a monster stripped of every human qualities.  
In frustration he hit his fist on the table, and with blurry eyes he saw the dancing flame on the candle. The source of light shined so right in comparison to its petite body. Enjolras' tears dropped from is chin. He believed he could have been that candle. He honestly believed he could have been successful in bringing enlightenment to the Parisians about their injustice hierarchy. Though he was little in numbers, he believed he could have spread the light everywhere, even venturing into further regions of France. 

Enjolras cried silently for he believed if he shouted in pain, it meant he wanted to scream to the heavens for forgiveness from his friends. Alas, he didn't want forgiveness, he believed his life was a punishment.  
He sobbed and sobbed before almost throwing up. he slapped his hand on his mouth. When he looked at it again, he realised he had spat out blood. 

His wound...  
When Enjolras ordered the soldiers to shoot him at the final resistance of the June Rebellion, they hesitated. He stood gracefully; patriotic and proud. It was then the drunkard he had ignored most his life strolled in, dazed. When Enjolras opened his eyes again to see what was the source of the soldiers' hesitation, his eyes fell upon Grantaire. He opened his mouth but it was too dry due to fear, he failed to question why he was at such a place at that very exact moment.  
Without any explanation, Grantaire falsely claimed the identity of Les Amis and wished 'Vive La France', in which he believed was a pointless goal as France was already doomed.  
Enjolras remained in this thought for a little while longer.  
Grantaire knew he was going to die... He probably figured his friends were to die as well. That was why he met have strolled to Enjolras at a critical moment. It was the only time in which Grantaire were able to die with Les Amis... Enjolras assumed this conclusion to be correct. Yet he felt unsatisfactory somehow. 

Enjolras blew the candle out.

He lay asleep on his back, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't breathe, as if weight had settled on him for years and he couldn't remove it at all. He threw his covers; he still felt a strain on his chest- his heart.  
He walked back outdoors where there was the fresh air. After all, nature was all he needed. Whenever he struggled with breathing, he would absorb himself in the stagnant night. 

He watched the night sky. He viewed the stars. They were brighter than ever before. It was almost as if they were shatters of the sun itself.

Slowly, he closed his eyes. He would not open his eyes until he made a decision- he was to decide on whether to flee this secluded place he had built. He were to break down the walls around himself. He were to venture out. To reconnect with Patria.  
Finally, he smiled.

Enjolras was to visit Paris again. Although the reason why still was misty to him.   
He went to his horse, fed a snack to it, then rode away.


	2. Enjolras returns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enj finally meets R.

The sun was rising now, and Enjolras could see the splash of light entrancing Paris. It was autumn- leaves scattered the floor, almost in piles.  
He mounted off his horse and breathed slightly unevenly out of nervousness. HIs friends once lived there, fought there, and eventually, led by Enjolras, died there.

He walked his horse to Paris, in search of a shelter, though he was interrupted by someone, "Enjolras?"  
The voice seemed alert and high, although his tone seemed familiar to him... The first person that popped into his head was Grantaire, but he remembered him; Grantaire as a last resort hugged Enjolras in order to shield the power of bullets.  
He slowly turned around to see a bearded, tired man, though his eyes were shining with joy, or maybe tears.  
Enjolras wanted to throw up. "R..."  
"Enjolras," he walked heavily towards him and pulled him into a hug, "I'm so glad you're here."  
"Why...?" Enjolras didn't know what to say.  
"I was so injured I was not able to live anywhere else than Paris, where technology thrives the most in France. I thought... I thought I failed. I thought you..."  
"No, only one bullet entered my chest. Fortunately it avoided primary organs... R.... I missed you..." Enjolras felt so distant from his body, as if he was a spirit watching his own past.  
Grantaire looked generally surprised. "Nobody survived. Only you and me." Enjolras' eyes travelled downwards due to misery of the response. "Hey, I've... I've missed you too."  
Enjolras' horse whinnied.  
"Um, Grantaire," Enjolras stuttered, "Would you mind... If we talked... together."  
"Sure," He hugged him again- just in case Enj disappears once again.  
"I didn't... Um, R, I...need...help."  
"It's okay, I know you do. I'll get you a doctor and-"  
"No!" He bit his bottom lip, "Sorry, uh, I meant I hope you'll help me."  
Grantaire tried to smile as pleasantly as he could. He understood the wight Enjolras had had felt throughout the years; he had gone through the pain after all. "Of course."


End file.
